


In This Particular Way

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Marking, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal loves Will's scars, but one in particular is his favorite. When Will wants to be marked again, Hannibal is more than happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Particular Way

“You don’t like that one,” Will says, jaw clenched tight as Hannibal thumbs across the scar curving just below his cheekbone.

“I haven’t given it much thought.” Hannibal grips Will’s chin, turning his face to the light, eying the way the skin pulls tight around it.

“Bullshit.” Hannibal can feel Will’s smile beneath his fingers, the scar twisting like a snarl against his cheek.

It’s two inches long, the place where the dragon’s blade sunk in, and it sits atop Will’s skin like an old friend. Once an angry shade of red, it has softened over time, matching the one Hannibal carved into his brow, a collection of memories cut into his flesh. 

“I don’t dislike it, although it is not my favorite,” Hannibal says, hand coming to rest against Will’s belly. He can feel the swell of it beneath Will’s shirt, thick scar tissue etched into the softness just above his navel.

“They’re all yours, in a way.”

“They are.” Hannibal brushes the curls back from Will’s forehead, pressing a soft kiss to the mark he left there. “Each represents an end or a beginning for us.”

“Do you ever think about marking me again?” Will asks, expression soft, bordering on vulnerable, eyes fixed on the faded slash marks that lie against Hannibal’s wrists, the ones Will left there by proxy.

“I do that all the time.” Hannibal smiles, sharp teeth peeking out beneath his lips as he thumbs at the purple bruise blossoming on Will’s neck.

“You know what I mean.” Will crowds Hannibal against the counter, their bodies pressed flush together. “Something more permanent.”

“Do you want me to?” Hannibal tangles his fingers in the hair at Will’s nape, excitement clawing at his spine. “Is this something you’ve been thinking about, Will?”

“I think about it sometimes.” Will’s lips are close enough to touch, his words moving the air between them. “Sometimes I dream that you’re tearing me apart.”

“You haven’t mentioned your nightmares returning.”

“That’s because they’re not nightmares.” Will smiles against Hannibal’s cheek, teeth grazing the skin. “In the dreams I’m never scared of you. It always feels like love. I wake up and I can feel you breathing against my neck, the same hands that tore me open warm against my hips.”

Life with Will is a constant balancing act, tipping Hannibal back and forth between tender and ferocious. Between something with gentle hands, and something insatiable and ravenous, all jagged claws and twisted edges. Sometimes he wants to sink his teeth inside, latch on and devour every last drop of him, consume until they are one.

Hannibal aches behind his ribs, an ache that Will has planted there, taming the beast with the bow of his mouth, with the way his eyes catch the light. 

“Do you trust me?” Hannibal whispers against Will’s ear, heartbeat rattling his bones as Will’s hands snake up the back of his shirt.

“What’s the old saying? Trust is two cannibals giving each other blowjobs?” Will muffles a laugh against Hannibal’s neck.

The joke coming from anyone else would be crude. Spilling from Will’s pretty lips it borders on charming.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Will hums his approval against Hannibal’s skin, mouthing at the hollow of his throat and letting a small whimper escape as Hannibal pulls away.

“Come.” Hannibal threads their fingers together, leading Will from the kitchen to the dining room. “If you would be so kind, my love, please clear the table for me. I won’t be a moment.”

Hannibal makes his way to the study, retrieving a clean scalpel, antiseptic, and more gauze than he’s certain this will require. When he returns, Will has not only done as he’s been asked, he’s stripped down to nothing but his boxers, splayed out across the table with the flowers from the centerpiece arched around his head, a crown of white oleander and delicate pink azalea. 

For a moment he feels paralyzed, frozen in place just across the threshold, struck breathless by the beauty laid out before him. His radiant prince, serving himself up without hesitation, soft light painting shadows on his face.

“I trust you.” Will reaches out as Hannibal approaches, fingers skimming the hem of his shirt.

“Tell me how you want it.” Hannibal brushes the curls from Will’s eyes, hand gently trailing down his cheek.

“No.” Will catches his wrist, bringing Hannibal’s hand to his lips, planting soft kisses across his fingertips. “I want you to pick the spot.”

“As you wish.”

Hannibal drags the back of his scalpel down Will’s chest, stopping when he reaches the long expanse of the scar stretching across his abdomen. He traces it with the blunt end of the blade, placing a kiss there when he is through.

He continues his journey down, pausing when he reaches a spot just above Will’s right knee, resting the blade there as he grabs the antiseptic. He cleans the area slowly, relishing in the way Will’s muscles tense in anticipation, taking the blade in hand once more.

“If you want me to stop I—”

“No. Don’t stop.” Will is breathless, arousal evident through the thin fabric of his shorts. “Please.”

Will winces at the first press of blade to skin, a shallow cut drawing delicate scarlet drops to gather on the surface. Hannibal wants to taste, wants to suck the flesh between his teeth until Will is writhing beneath him. The beast howling in his bones wants to drain Will dry. The urge is overwhelming and then suddenly it is not, desire coiling low in Hannibal’s belly as he makes another, slightly deeper cut right atop the first.

Three parallel lines sit low on Will’s thigh when Hannibal is through, none of them deep enough that stitches will be necessary, but blood drips freely from them all, delicate streams of scarlet streaked across his skin and pooling on the table. Hannibal can’t help but drag his fingers there, bringing them to his lips and lapping at them with his tongue.

He cleans the area again and presses a thick pad of gauze against the wounds, trailing his other hand up Will’s abdomen and smiling at the soft expression on Will’s face, their fingers tangling together against the spot where Hannibal’s blade sunk in so many years ago.

“Are they going to fade?” Will asks, a hint of desperation in his voice that thrills Hannibal right down to his toes.

“Perhaps, but there are ways to insure the scarring will take hold,” Hannibal tells him, securing the gauze in place.

Will gets himself upright, swinging his legs to dangle over the edge of the table, pulling Hannibal close and nuzzling against his chest.

“Would you like to do the same to me?” Hannibal asks, pressing a kiss to Will’s hair.

“Do you want me to?” Will pulls back, amusement tugging at his mouth.

“Yes,” Hannibal says. “I would like that very much.”


End file.
